


What Does the Fox Say?

by Reaping



Series: random prompts from Mels [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, Crack Fic, Cursed!Stiles, F/M, First Time, Fox!Stiles, Future Fic, Getting Together, Graphic Sex, I probably mentioned other characters and forgot, Idiots in Love, Less than canon-typical violence, M/M, Magical Shenanigans, Post-Canon, Stiles/OFC (past), red foxes are funny bastards
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-05
Updated: 2016-03-05
Packaged: 2018-05-24 19:03:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,498
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6163438
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Reaping/pseuds/Reaping
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Another prompt from Mels:</p><p>"a fic where Stiles temporarily gets turned into a fox and is a total shitbag obnoxios pos, biting derek the whole time and just being really aggressive with him but they managed to fix him and turn him back and Stiles just doesn't stop the behavior and runs at derek all the time and attacks him and bites him and shit"</p><p>This was supposed to be that. Except it just kept getting longer and longer. And I tripped and spilled feels all over the place. Then tried to make up for that with porn. So it got, you guessed it, longer.</p>
            </blockquote>





	What Does the Fox Say?

**Author's Note:**

> If I missed any tags, feel free to comment me and let me know. I'm also always open to ConCrit. This was my working title and I am too lazy to change it to something better.

Derek hears his phone vibrate in his pocket signaling an incoming text, but he’s in the middle of his run so he ignores it. If it was important, someone would call. They had a good system in place for that now, after everything that had happened. Everyone always had their phone on and charged, no matter where they were. And they picked up if one of the pack called. They’d know it was pack because they all had the same ringtone programmed in – Stiles’ idea of a joke that stuck because nobody could think of anything better and Derek was pretty sure that at this point, nobody wanted to hear Vader’s march ever again – so most of them didn’t call unless it was a pack emergency, they stuck to texts otherwise. He shakes his head thinking back on how often the phone would ring back when they first instituted the system, grateful that calls are a rare occurrence now, and pushes himself a little faster. He rounds the corner just down the street from the loft almost an hour later, sweat starting to bead at his brow finally, when his phone vibrates again. He figures he’s close enough now and slows the run down to a jog then a walk, slipping the phone from his shorts to see who was texting.

**_From Scott (10:15 am): We may have a slight problem…there were some witches and Stiles had a run in with them._ **

**_From Scott (11:00 am): Correction. We definitely have a problem. I’m at the loft. With the problem._ **

Derek tenses as he reads the second text from his alpha, but he trusts that it’s not an emergency or Scott would’ve called. Even so, he’s on alert as he makes his way into the building, bypassing the elevator for the stairs. He hears two heartbeats coming from inside the loft, can pick out the scent of Scott easily, the second one is vaguely familiar but…also not. He can’t pinpoint it, sucks it up and slides open the large metal door. He can see Scott standing by the large bank of windows, but he can’t see the other person. He can still hear their heartbeat, glances around to spot them, but has no luck. Scott’s turning around to face him, mouth opening to speak, when Derek catches a flash of red off to the right, he spins but somehow isn’t fast enough, the blur slamming into his knees and knocking him over before digging teeth into shoulder. He lets out a frustrated growl and bats his hand at whatever is on top of him, claws coming out.

“DEREK, NO!” There’s enough alpha command in the yell to have him pull his hand back, stopping the hit from landing. He draws his claws back in as he feels the teeth slip out of his shoulder, he’s turning to look at what had him when he gets a face full of tail, hard enough to be irritating, before the creature hops over him and onto the sofa he’d recently acquired. When he shakes off the confusion he can see that it’s a fox. When he gets up and gets a better look, he realizes the fox isn’t really red, more of an orangey color, with white on its chest and paws. It has strange flecks of dark brown scattering throughout its fur, and it cocks its head at him in a far more intelligent manner than any fox he’s ever seen before, eyes tracking his movements as he gets closer. He can smell it better now too, traces of its scent lingering on his skin and shirt. It smells an awful lot like…

“Stiles?” His eyes widen and he twists towards Scott, gaze flickering back and forth between the fox and his alpha. He catches the huff of irritation from the fox as Scott nods.

“Yeah, I mentioned we had a little problem right? He…uh…” he watches as Scott’s face tilts down, hand moving up to rub the back of his neck, a sheepishness that Derek hasn’t seen in the man for years now. Scott clears his throat and picks up his train of thought, “you know how we always joked that you had the worst taste in people? Turns out Stiles’ isn’t so great either. That woman he went out with a couple of times last month? She was a witch…and she didn’t really take it well when he told her there wasn’t any chemistry between them when she ran into him today and asked him why he quit returning her calls.”

“She…didn’t take it too well? That’s kind of an understatement wouldn’t you say, Scott?” Derek glances back at the fox, Stiles – and now the brown flecks make sense – and watches as he bears his teeth, a low noise, somewhere between a chuff and a bark, emanating from him. Derek’s spent enough time around wild animals to know what it means, Stiles is pissed. He looks at Scott again as Stiles turns his back to the room, muzzle burying in the couch cushions and tail flicking back and forth sharply.

“She cursed him. I have to talk to Deaton, but he’s out of town this weekend for some sort of conference. Also…I can’t take him home with me. So…”

“No. No damn it. He bit me Scott!”

“Yeah well, I kinda wasn’t asking Derek. I can’t take him home with me, I can’t keep him at the clinic and despite John knowing everything now, there’s no way he’s going to be okay with a fox running around his house. The loft is out of the way – you don’t have neighbors, he can stay hidden. Plus, the witch is still out there and we’re going to have to deal with her at some point too.” Derek grits his teeth, jaw flexing.

“Fine. Just…fine.”

“Thanks man!” Scott’s frustrated demeanor is gone in a flash, replaced with his usual cheery attitude. It leaves Derek more irritated than he was a minute ago, and by the chuffs and growls he can hear coming from the couch, Stiles is just as annoyed by it. Scott claps him on the shoulder as he makes his way to the door, a bounce in his step because he’s now free from the pissy fox that is somehow Derek’s responsibility. He listens to the door clang shut and hears a whine come from the sofa. He moves around so he can see Stiles better and laughs at the strange frustration he can see on his face, he can almost feel Stiles’ desire to start ranting, except he can’t because he’s a fox. Derek starts laughing, which earns him a glare.

“You know…I think I might actually enjoy this. No more inane babbling.” He’s still chuckling as he turns towards the kitchen, intending to grab some water. He forgot how fast Stiles was like this, doesn’t remember until he’s tipping forward, barely managing to get an arm out to stop his face from hitting the concrete flooring, Stiles’ teeth clamped onto his right Achilles tendon so tightly that he can feel the top and bottom incisors grinding against one another along the muscle.

“Fucker!” He yells and flips over, whipping his other foot out, but Stiles is faster (again) and darts out of the way, tail held high and teeth bared – a weird chittering growl coming from him. Derek growls back, fangs dropping down as he stands, but Stiles doesn’t seem inclined to back down and despite the fact that he’s being an epic shit right now, Derek doesn’t want to actually hurt him. He sighs in defeat and turns his back, ears listening for the sound of paws on the concrete that will warn him if Stiles is going to dart in for another bite. He doesn’t hear anything and chances a look back as he gets to the fridge, startled to see Stiles has disappeared. He takes a deep breath and lets it out, retrieving the water he’d come in for and downing a bottle before pulling out eggs, cheese, butter, and sausage – he’s hungry after the run and omelets are easy. He pulls out to plates and starts mixing the ingredients. By the time he’s finished, he’s got two perfect omelets on plates and Stiles still hasn’t returned. Derek sits at the bar he’d installed in the kitchen and demolishes his. When he’s done and there’s still no sign of Stiles he shakes his head and sets the second plate on the floor along with a bowl of water. It takes restraint but he manages not to laugh at the thought of Stiles sitting down like a pup to eat. He grabs a towel and heads to the shower, he didn’t sweat much, but it was enough that he’d rather not have the vague sour tang on the air for the rest of the day. When he finishes, he goes back into the kitchen to find the food gone and half the water spilled all over the floor, but Stiles has gone back to hiding. It’s better than having him bouncing out and biting him, so he lets it go and settles himself on the couch, laptop out to do some research into spells that can turn a person into a fox. Deaton may be gone, but there’s nothing stopping the rest of them for looking for a solution. He spends an hour pointlessly googling before realizing there’s a reason they all turn to Deaton or Stiles for answers. When he finally gives up, he decides that maybe he can at least learn about red foxes so he can figure out what instincts might be cropping up that Stiles has never had to deal with. Definitely the hiding thing is a new instinct – Stiles is not usually quiet for this long, or mellow, or not completely up in everyone’s business. It’s weird and Derek doesn’t like it. He settles with his back to the arm of the sofa, knees pushed up to help prop the computer on his lap and gets down to it, stifling a yawn.

 

**

 

The loft is dark when Derek wakes, the laptop sitting on its side on the floor, screen dark and probably dead if he had to guess at how long it was sitting there draining the battery. There’s a strange acrid scent that he knows he knows, but can’t quite place. He heaves himself off the sofa, picking up the laptop and depositing it in his now vacated seat before moving to turn on some lights – he may be a werewolf, but the moon hasn’t shifted to this side of the building yet and even he needs some sort of light to see with any clarity, right now it’s all just dim shapes. When the lights flicker on, he groans and wonders if maybe he shouldn’t have just left them off after all. The loft is a wreck. Clothes and shoes are strewn all over the place, the blankets and pillows have been stripped from the bed and are nowhere in sight.

“STILES!” He doesn’t expect an answer, so there’s no surprise when he doesn’t get one. The acrid smell is getting stronger so he gives up trying to catch a glimpse of orange and follows his nose to the source. It turns out to be another of today’s many mistakes. There’s a shirt – well, pieces of a shirt more like, it’s been totally shredded – he vaguely recognizes as having belonged to Braeden. The smell is definitely coming from it, and now that he’s practically standing on it, he knows what it is. Fox urine. Fucking animal instincts. He shakes his head, trying to clear the smell from his nose as he heads to the kitchen to grab a garbage bag, gloves, and some sort of cleaning something to get rid of the smell. This is why he never got a pet – they did things that made no sense and then you had to clean up after them. Scott may be the alpha, but he was going to owe Derek for this. He scowled his way through cleaning up the mess, the sharp scent of bleach stinging his nose, but still miles better than the pee. He marched down to the dumpster, making sure to close the loft door behind him – the last thing any of them needed was Stiles wandering off and causing trouble around town. He was thankful when he came back upstairs and found the loft exactly how he’d left it, no new surprises. Well, somewhere there was one because Stiles and all of the bedding were still missing. The smell of fox was everywhere, so using his nose wasn’t going to help at all. He’d have to find him the human way – by looking. He checked under the bed even though he was pretty sure there wasn’t enough space for anything to hide there, made his rounds checking behind any furniture that could potentially hide anything bigger than a breadbox. The upstairs was just as empty as the downstairs, and despite the boiler room having a shut door he checked there too. He hadn’t heard anything but the low steady sound of Stiles’ heart, so he knew he was here somewhere, but Derek was just about out of options. He didn’t think he could’ve unlatched and relatched a window to head out onto the balcony, which pretty much left the bathroom. He headed towards it, noticed the uptick in the heartbeat as he drew even with the partially shut door and wondered why he didn’t check here sooner. He pushed the door in and was not happy with the sight in front of him, Stiles was curled up on top of his pillows and blankets…inside the tub. He started to step in to drag everything out and Stiles jumped to his feet (paws?), a low growl coming from his throat, lips pulling back to reveal the very sharp teeth that Derek wished he wasn’t already so acquainted with. He let his own fangs drop and his eyes flash, a challenging growl spilling from his mouth as he took another step in. He was startled when Stiles lunged for his throat, teeth nipping the skin before he twisted himself backwards. As soon as he stepped back out of the bathroom itself Stiles seemed to calm down, eyes never leaving Derek but his body carefully moving backwards until he could resettle himself in the tub. He curled back up onto his pile, tail wrapping over his muzzle and eyes slipping nearly closed. When Derek took a step forward it was like a movie on repeat, Stiles was back on his feet, lips peeled back and the growl getting louder this time, echoing in the tiny space.

“Well, fuck.” He could easily take the fox, but that would mean hurting Stiles, and eventually he would be human again, and then Derek would have something new to feel guilty about. He backed out of the bathroom again, pulling the door back to its partial close before scrunching himself back down on the couch. He settled in, sleeping restlessly until the sun was edging over the rest of the buildings on his block, light shining through the large bank of windows and directly into his eyes. This was why he never slept on the damn couch. He sighed, dragging his hand down his face before pulling his cell phone out of his pocket and calling Scott. Stiles hadn’t seemed to have a problem at all with him, and Derek couldn’t handle a territorial fox trying to take over his space.

“Heeeey man, how’s it going with Stiles?” Scott sounded as cheery as ever, which grated on his nerves at the moment.

“You need to come get him Scott, this isn’t going to work.”

“Aw man, it can’t be that bad. It’s just another day or so.”

“I’m serious Scott, he can’t stay here. He tore up one of Braeden’s old shirts and peed all over it, then he took everything off my bed and made a fucking nest in my tub. I can’t take a piss in my own bathroom without him going nuclear. You need to get him.” He could hear the choked back laughter on the other end of the line, could feel his teeth grinding in his mouth in response. “It’s not fucking funny Scott, _help me damn you_.” Scott gave up trying to hide his amusement, Derek could hear him heaving in gasps between bouts of slightly manic laughter. He hung his head, waiting for it to subside so he could try pleading again.

“Derek…man…” Scott was clearly still working on reining it in as he answered, “I already told you. Nobody can take him.”

“Scott please…” he’d slumped to the floor, one hand massaging his temple while the other held the phone pressed to his cheek, he knew werewolves couldn’t get headaches so his was definitely psychosomatic. The hint of a whine in his voice was annoying even him, but he’d fully beg if it meant getting someone here to deal with this. He heard Scott clear his throat on the other end of the line, voice coming back much more sober and quiet.

“If I could take him I would, but I really can’t Derek. I managed to get ahold of Deaton and he’ll be back tomorrow evening – it’s one more night, twenty-four more hours. He’s pack, just, I don’t know man, just try and stick it out as best you can. I’m sorry, but I have to go – I have two overnights staying at the clinic that need me there for meds in twenty.” The phone dimmed as the call disconnected.

“Fuck.” It was going to be a long twenty-four hours. He glanced towards the bathroom, catching the tip of a tail disappearing back inside. How the fuck was Stiles so quiet? He got up, nervously inspecting the loft for any more damage, but was relieved to see that everything seemed to be in order – all except the missing food that he’d left out the night before. He hadn’t noticed when he first woke up if it was gone already. He set about fixing himself a small lunch, it was early afternoon now, putting a portion of the meat aside for Stiles again on the floor and reluctantly refilling the nearly empty water dish. He really didn’t want a repeat of yesterday but he couldn’t trust the fox enough to let him outside so he just had to hope that if he peed in the loft again, he did it somewhere easier to clean. He may or may not have yelled something to that effect in the general direction of the bathroom. Lunch passes in relative quiet and when he’s finished he drags out the laptop again, bringing back up the articles on foxes to do more research, just in case Deaton can’t fix this and they have to rely on finding the witch. Some of the articles he comes across include video, so he turns the volume down and watches those too, trying to learn from sounds and body language what things indicate an attack is eminent. He scrunches his face up when he hears the mating screech, surprised his ears aren’t bleeding. He shakes off the faint ringing and closes out the browser, taking his plate to the sink to rinse. There’s been no sign of Stiles again after the brief glimpse he got of his tail and the food and water appear untouched. Despite what the pack thinks, he’s not actually used to spending this much time alone in the loft. He heaves out a sigh and heads to his dresser, pulling out running shorts, a tank, and a fresh pair of socks. He changes, tossing the dirty clothes onto the bed to deal with when he’s home, then grabs his seldom-used keys and leaves, locking up for the first time in years. He can’t recall the last time he felt the need to lock the doors, he thinks maybe it was after their last time in Mexico, but he can’t leave Stiles in there alone without protection (although really, those fucking teeth are protection enough), and he also really can’t risk Stiles sorting out how to shove the door open and escaping. He freezes on the stairs, the thought briefly appealing – it wouldn’t really be his fault if the door was just barely cracked would it? In the end he shakes it off, not willing to deal with a pissy Scott, and heads out of the building. He slides into the Camaro, back in action now that he’s not in charge of the pack, and heads towards the preserve. He’d run through town, but the risk of coming across John is too high, and he isn’t really sure what lie Scott spun to keep the sheriff from worrying about Stiles’ absence this weekend. The drive is short, even with the low speed limits and winding road. He parks the car at the dead-end that used to be the driveway for the Hale house; he’d bought it back from the county a couple years ago and finally razed the building to the ground. The property was still empty, a perfect clearing. He’d been working on new plans, intending to build a pack house out there. He wasn’t sure it was a place he would live, but it would give them all somewhere to go when they needed it, a safe space that they could be in together. He shook off the images of the built-up house that were floating behind his eyelids and began to stretch – being a werewolf meant that injuries healed, but it didn’t prevent them from happening after all. His warmup took roughly twenty minutes, enough time for a very light sheen of sweat to bead across his forehead – the day was warming up with him it seemed. He took a few deep breaths then set off between the trees, a faint pathway worn in by the runs he and the pack took, making their own trail through the deeper parts of the woods. His mind drifted as he ran, thoughts flitting from the planned pack house back over to Stiles and his situation, but eventually everything blanked out – the pounding of his feet against the dirt, the thrumming of his blood in his veins, the steady whump-whump of his heart beating the only things he was aware of. By the time he rounded the final curve and entered the clearing across from where he’d started his shirt was soaked through with sweat. He started to stretch again, the muscles in his arms and legs pleasantly sore from the run, when he caught the sharp scent of ozone and heard a branch snap nearby. His head whipped to the left, eyes scanning the tree line for the source of the sound. He spins at the sound of a voice from behind him.

“Hmm….a whole lot of things make a lot more sense now.” The woman is about his height, tanned skin and dark hair; her bright green eyes assess him from a distance just shy of what he could cover before she could react. She paces across the clearing, keeping the same amount of space between them as he shifts with her – she must know what he is then. “At least he wasn’t lying.” Derek’s unsure what she’s talking about but keeps his face blank – it’s never good to let a potential enemy know they have you confused. She cocks her head at him, mouth twisting up in a smirk. “You have no idea who I am, do you?” Her laughter is light and rings across the clearing. “I’m Hannah.” It takes him a minute to place the name.

“You’re the one who cursed Stiles. The girl he was dating.”

“Woman. A girl is a child; do I look like a child?”

“No.”

“No.” She smirks at him again, and he’s unsettled but he keeps himself in check, forces the tips of his claws back into his hand. She’s obviously powerful enough to do some damage and he’d rather not be at the receiving end of another of her curses. “Where is Stiles anyhow? He ran off so quickly after he changed and I haven’t been able to track him. I had more plans.” Derek can feel the wolf clawing to the surface, pushes it back as best he can before answering, though he can feel his teeth trying to lengthen, can tell they’re sharpening as he speaks.

“He’s safe. We’re going to undo what you did.”

“I have no doubt you’ll try. You can’t though. Only I can.” Her eyes flick over him once again, measuring…something, and she sighs. “If you take me to him, I’ll break the curse. I saw lies and an excuse when he told me…well, it’s not my place but still.”

“Why would I trust you? You just said you’d had other plans for him.”

“I can’t tell you why you would trust me, only that you should if you want him back as he was.” She stands there, arms cross, hair shifting in the slight breeze blowing across the clearing, waiting for his answer like it doesn’t matter to her either way. It probably doesn’t. As much as he doesn’t want to do this, he can’t see another option. It’s not like she couldn’t just follow him when he leaves, and Deaton still won’t be back until the morning. A small smile, more genuine than the smirks, rises on her face as he comes to his decision – it unnerves him more than the tang of magic swirling in his nose.

“Fine.” He barely grits it out, turning towards the Camaro and unlocking the passenger door for her. She slides in just as he does, body angled so that she’s facing him with her back against the door. The ride back to the loft is quiet and tense, he can feel her staring, studying him, but he clenches his jaw and doesn’t speak. He takes a gulp of fresh air as soon as he’s out of the car, trying to clear the strange smell of Hannah and her magic from his nose. He leads her up the stairs, not wanting to be trapped in another enclosed space with her for longer than necessary. He unlocks the loft door and slides it open a crack, making sure Stiles isn’t waiting on the other side to tear out of the apartment – when he doesn’t see any sign of the fox he opens it wide enough for them to slip through, shutting it with a loud clang as soon as they’re in. He makes it as far as the living room before the fox comes streaking out from wherever he was hiding, strange shrieking noise aimed at Derek right up until he catches the other scent in the room. Stiles quiets immediately, paws sliding on the concrete floor as he skids to a stop. He whirls in place, lips peeling back from his tiny fangs as he puts himself between Derek and Hannah. He’s curved his body so his back half is pressed firmly against Derek’s shins, his front paws and face aimed at the woman. Derek can feel more than hear the low growls coming from the fox. Part of him is amused, because he’s a werewolf and infinitely stronger, but the other part is worried. Stiles has been unpredictable in this form, if he attacks there’s no telling what Hannah will do. It’s that thought that spurs Derek into action. He crouches, careful to keep the contact, and reaches his hand out, tangling his fingers in the fur at Stiles’ nape, digging in and making sure his hold is good enough that the fox won’t be able to leap away. He can feel the fox trying to carefully twist out of his grip and allows his own fangs to drop, a small warning growl rumbling up from his chest. Surprisingly, it works, Stiles relaxes minutely, stops trying to break free of his grasp, goes so far as to drop his hindquarters and sit. Derek reaches forward with his other hand, running it soothingly across the foxes’ chest. Hannah hadn’t moved during this entire affair. She waits another minute to be sure everyone is calmer before she beings to move towards them. Stiles’ soft warning growls pick up, but Derek just tightens the hands in his fur, holding him in place.

“You didn’t lie to me at all. Maybe to yourself, maybe to some of your pack, but not to me.” Her eyes narrow as she crouches in front of him, head tilting to the side and mouth quirking contritely. “I’m sorry Stiles. I shouldn’t have overreacted, although you should have been honest with everyone in the beginning,” her gaze flicks from Stiles to Derek and back again, “I think that’s something you have a problem with.” The smirk is back but before Derek can ask her what the hell she’s planning she leans forward, brushing her lips across the fur at the top of Stiles’ head before stepping back. Her hands shift in the air, some complicated pattern that looks like weaving, Latin spilling softly from her lips. There’s a blinding flash of light and when Derek finally blinks the spots out of his vision she’s gone. Stiles, however, is back. A very naked Stiles who is currently wrapped up in Derek’s arms. They both realize it at about the same moment, Derek dropping his grip and Stiles flailing backwards in shock. Which would be fine, except flailing backwards puts his…everything right on out in the open. Derek quickly spins on his ass until he’s facing away, hearing Stiles sputter and thump around as he tries to regain his balance and probably ends up more sprawled on the floor. Derek wouldn’t know because he is not looking, definitely not at all looking. He hunches he shoulders up to his ears and squeezes his eyes tight, reminding himself that looking is not at all a thing that friends do and if Stiles needs help he’ll ask damn it. He doesn’t relax until he hears the slam of the bathroom door, his breath coming out in a whoosh. He stands and turns as he hears the bathroom door open, mouth opening to speak before he catches sight of Stiles, who’s standing there with the sheet from Derek’s bed wrapped around his waist, held in place by his fist while his other hand is ruffling through his hair. Whatever Derek had been about to say is gone, brain focused on the pale expanse of skin, moles like constellations running across it. Usually Stiles was in so many layers they’d all assumed he was the same skinny kid from high school but clearly they’d just been doing an excellent job of hiding his body – he was all lean muscle and sharp angles, abs defined and shoulders broad. He stares until he hears Stiles clear his throat, faint flush running down his neck and across his chest.

“So, um…clothes?” Derek almost gets lost in watching the flush continue to spread, but remembers he probably shouldn’t be staring and nods, not trusting his voice at the moment. He moves over to the dresser next to the bed, grabbing out a clean tank and pair of sweats – they’ll still be big on Stiles, but definitely better than having him lounge around in a sheet. He tosses them at him and heads towards the kitchen to make some lunch for the both of them. When Stiles reemerges from the bathroom his dressed thankfully. The tank fits him better than expected, not overly large, stretching across his shoulders where he’s maybe a little broader than Derek now. The sweats though, Derek is having all sorts of regrets about not finding something else. They’re loose, hanging low off his hips, and when he raises his arms above his head in a stretch they slip a little lower as the tank rides up, revealing a dark trail of hair low on Stiles’ belly. Derek’s breath catches at the sight but he manages to control himself before Stiles notices. Objectively, he knew the man was attractive, had occasionally entertained thoughts even, but it had never been this distracting before. He was going to chalk it up to Stiles’ scent (even in fox form, it was clear it was Stiles) soaking into the loft more than it ever had. Also to seeing Stiles in his clothes. It was a wolf thing, and if anyone asked that’s what he’d tell them – he was the only born wolf left in Beacon Hills, nobody could contradict him on the matter. He finished tossing together the sandwiches and dropped a plate in front of Stiles where he’d sat at the bar.

“Listen, thanks for keeping me here. And putting up with the biting. And the destruction.”

“Sure. I still don’t even know how you found Braeden’s shirt to ruin, but it’s no big deal.”

“It was the smell, I just couldn’t stand smelling her all over y–” Stiles’ mouth snaps shut with an audible clack, his eyes going wide.

“All over what?” He watches as Stiles claps a hand over his mouth, eyes still huge, head shaking back and forth. “Stiles? Are you okay?” The head shaking becomes more frantic, and he can hear Stiles’ heartbeat ratchet up, can smell the sour notes of panic starting to edge into his scent. “Stiles – you need to calm down.” Derek moves around the bar towards Stiles, hands out in a placating manner, but before he can reach him, Stiles is flailing backwards, hand still clamped over his mouth as he goes tumbling to the floor. “STILES! Calm down!” He watches as Stiles scrambles backwards on one hand, eyes darting back and forth as if looking for a way out and that’s enough to stop Derek from moving. Stiles hasn’t been afraid of him for a long time, and even when he was, it wasn’t this blatant terror. He’d only meant to help him remember how to breathe, but clearly something was going on that he was making worse. He takes a few steps back before turning and going to sit on the couch to wait it out, fighting the instincts screaming at him to help his packmate. He was currently part of the problem so staying back was better. He watches from the couch as Stiles scrambles to his feet, half stumbling and half running until he’s safely in the bathroom, door slammed behind him. He can hear the harsh breathing that comes at the start of a panic attack, muffled cursing, something that sounds like “damn it Hannah,” right before the shower kicks on, followed quickly by the sink. He can still hear the frantic thumping of Stiles’ heart but any words spilling from his mouth are lost in the white noise he created. Derek hopes that he had the presence of mind to remove the blankets and pillows from the tub before he turned the water on – they need to be washed regardless, but he doesn’t want to drag a soaking pile through the loft to the laundry room if he doesn’t have to. It’s nearly thirty minutes before the water shuts off and Stiles reemerges, one hand running through his hair while the fingers of the other beat out a nervous staccato on his thigh. He clears his throat as he drops onto the sofa next to Derek, twisting his body so they’re facing each other, one leg tucked up underneath himself.

“So…um…I’m gonna talk because I don’t seem to have a choice in the matter and I need you to listen and not interrupt until I’m done. And also I need you to know that what I say doesn’t have to mean anything or change anything even though I–” Derek watches as Stiles grits his teeth against whatever was about to come out of his mouth, sees him take a breath before continuing carefully, “so I’m going to talk, and I need you to listen and just…just listen.” Derek can feel his eyebrows go up, inclining his head and holding his hand out palm up to give Stiles the go ahead to keep talking.

“Right.” Stiles takes a deep breath and starts again. “Right. So here’s the thing. Hannah fixed the whole fox issue, obviously, but she kinda left me another…I’m gonna call it a curse although I’m sure she’d disagree. Anyway. She wants me to tell the truth. And the thing is, I get it okay, I get why she wants me to, I should’ve told her from the start, but it’s not like it’s that simple. Because you and me, we’re friends now right, not just sometimes allies, but actual friends.” He waits until Derek nods in agreement, barely restraining himself from rolling his eye, before continuing on. “We’re friends, and once I get this out, that’s probably done. But the thing is that I like you. Like, I really like you. As in I’m in love with you. And I know you aren’t gay or bi or whatever, and I know you don’t feel that way about me and I’m pretty sure I’ve done a good fucking job of not getting my feelings all over the place. And the thing is, I was happy to keep it to myself, because I’d rather be your friend than nothing. But Hannah, I didn’t tell her because I thought maybe…I don’t know man, maybe I could have something with someone – with her. Except I didn’t feel anything after a month and it wasn’t fair, so I told her, and I told her why, only I guess she thought I was full of shit because you saw how that turned out. And I know this is going to make things awkward and weird but I swear to god nothing is going to change. It’s not like it was with Lydia, I know there’s no chance here. Anyway, I’m just…,” he trails off, eyes flicking across Derek’s face which had gone blank midway through his speech and still was. Stiles’ Adams apple bobs as he swallows back against the sudden burning in his eyes because he can see it’s all done, like he knew it would be if he ever said any of this out loud. “I’m gonna go,” it’s barely a whisper in the quiet of the loft. He stands and moves past Derek towards the door.

“Stiles, wait.” And he wants to, but he can hear what sounds like regret in Derek’s voice and he keeps moving, head shaking softly from side to side.

“Damn it Stiles! Wait!” Derek takes a few steps forward, grabbing Stiles’ wrist to stop him. He feels the tug as Stiles tries to keep moving forwards regardless.

“It’s – its fine. Just, I need to go.” He can hear the break in Stiles’ voice, tugs on his wrist to spin the other man back towards him and does the only thing he can think of that might get Stiles to listen to him, he pulls him forward and captures Stiles’ lips with his own. The kiss is soft, a gentle press of their mouths, and Stiles pulls back after only a few seconds.

“Wha–” Derek can see the confusion in his face, cuts him off before he can finish the question.

“I’m in love with you too, idiot.” His lips quirk up at the side in a smile as he feels some of the tension release from Stiles. He laughs outright when Stiles suddenly jumps up into his arms, wrapping his legs around Derek’s waist. He’s still smiling when Stiles presses his mouth back against Derek’s, lips parting to deepen the kiss. He wraps his arms more tightly around the man in his arms, one hand sliding down to cup Stiles’ ass as the other slips into the hair at the nape of his neck, angling his head better, tongue edging into his mouth. Derek lets out a low groan as Stiles rolls his hips down to where they’re pressed hard against one another. He takes a step backwards, intending to move them to the bed when the door slams open on a yell.

“DEREK! Are you okay? I heard you groanin– OH MY GOD WHAT ARE YOU DOING STOP MY EYES!?!” Two heads flick towards where Scott has just skidded into the loft, Stiles’ legs slipping down from Derek’s waist until his feet are firmly planted on the floor again. Derek turns so they’re side by side facing Scott, arms still wrapped around one another’s waists. Scott is whining, hands over his eyes, begging them to please be decent. They glance at each other and explode into laughter.

“Assholes. You are both such giant assholes.” Scott continues to grumble but drops his hands, watching both of them. “I was coming to tell you Deaton was back so he could help us, but clearly you two figured it out. Please don’t ever tell me what you had to do to fix him Derek. Ever. Like, never ever. Also, learn to lock your damn door.”

“Aww Scotty, my man, what do you mean you don’t want to know what he had to do to fix me? It’s a pretty interesting story. Man oh man, there are some secrets you were keeping about werewolf anatomy.”

“NO! Damn it Stiles! No. Just. What? No. Nevermind. No. Please no. Dereeeeek….” Scott’s voice trails off into a whine as he looks over helplessly at Derek, who has gone beet red. There aren’t any secrets, Stiles is completely full of it, but it doesn’t stop him from being embarrassed regardless. Stiles starts cackling when he gets a good look at the both of them.

“I had you for just a minute, eh Scotty?”

“I hate you both so much right now.”

“Lie.”

“Shut up Derek. Don’t make me alpha you right now.”

“Ha! You can alpha him all you want Scott, but that shit doesn’t work on me, and we both know if anyone is into oversharing, it’s not sourwolf over here.”

“Call me that again and there won’t be anything to overshare.” Derek tries to glare at Stiles but he can feel his face betraying him, smile lifting his mouth. He sees an echoing smile on Stiles’ face and leans into the other man, brushing their lips together. He can feel the slide of Stiles’ tongue against his bottom lip and opens his mouth to it, hands fisting in the back of the tank Stiles is wearing and pulling him closer until they’re snugged together tightly.

“Hate you both so much. Assholes. At least wait until I’m gone.”

Derek pulls his face back from Stiles’ just enough to turn his head to face Scott. Stiles takes the opportunity to run his mouth down the side of Derek’s neck, tongue licking a path down his throat, the graze of his teeth causing Derek to shiver.

“Better hurry up and leave then Scott.” He chuckles as he watches Scott’s nose wrinkle at the smell of arousal that’s been filling the apartment ever since the first kiss they shared.

“Hate you so, so much,” Scott mumbles it as he turns and leaves, slamming the loft door behind him. Derek can faintly hear him yelling again about locking it next time and smirks. He opens his mouth to say something but everything deserts him when Stiles suddenly bites down on the juncture of his shoulder and neck, worrying a mark there before pulling back and watching it fade away again.

“That’s a bummer, I was hoping it would stay longer.” His gaze flicks up to meet Derek’s and the air rushes out of him at the expression on Derek’s face, his mouth parted, eyes completely blown. “Liked that did you? Liked me marking you?” Derek nods, dragging Stiles closer (really it’s not much movement, they were pretty damned close already), slotting their mouths back together and pulling him along backwards until his knees hit the end of the bed and he drops gracelessly onto it, tumbling Stiles into his lap. Stiles huffs a laugh into his mouth, sliding his knees more firmly around Derek’s thighs as he straddles him before settling down into his lap. He can feel the hard length pressing into his abs and he groans when Stiles rocks down onto him, grinding against his own hardness. “Too many clothes Derek.” It’s half breathless, Stiles’ hands sliding up under his shirt. He lifts his arms obligingly, mouth detaching only long enough for the soft cotton to peel over his head. Derek gets lost in the sensation of skin on skin as Stiles’ hands roam across his chest, down his sides and up his back. His own hands fist in the front of the borrowed tank, grip tightening and the tips of his claws coming out to shred the material straight off of Stiles’ body so he doesn’t have to stop kissing him again. “So hot,” it’s mumbled against his lips as he wraps an arm around Stiles’ back, holding him securely before using the other hand to lever them up the bed further. “Fuck, so fucking hot Derek,” Stiles tips his head back, a moan spilling from his lips as Derek’s tongue laves a path down his throat to his chest, teeth lightly scraping the skin behind it, catching on one of Stiles’ nipples, earning him a gasp and more pressure as Stiles grinds down harder into his lap. “Still too many fucking clothes, fuuuuuck…” he trails off into a moan as Derek’s tongue flicks across the same nipple, the fingers of his other hand sliding up Stiles chest, thumb rubbing across the one not in his mouth. He lavishes attention on Stiles’ chest for a few more minutes, relishing the flush building beneath the other man’s skin and the noises spilling unrestrained from his mouth before he relents, pulling Stiles’ face down to his to kiss him deeply even as his hands shift to Stiles’ hips, lifting him up enough to slide the sweats off his ass and down his thighs. It takes a moment for Stiles to get with the program but then he’s angling himself up and shoving them further down with his own hands, slipping them over his knees before leaning further against Derek to try and yank them off of his feet, the angle rubbing his cock against Derek’s abs. His breath hitches at the contact, precome beading at the tip and leaving a smear across the tanned muscles.

“Fuck Stiles,” it comes out nearly in a growl as Derek leans forward, yanking the sweats off and flinging them across the loft before dropping heavily backwards onto the bed, shoulders and heels digging into the mattress as he lifts his hips to pull his running shorts and boxer briefs off, cock springing free to rub against Stiles’ backside as he shifts. They both moan at the slide of skin on skin before Derek sits back up, cock trapped between his thighs and Stiles ass, the pressure enough to drive him half crazy.

“Lube?” It comes out in a breathy whine between kisses, their bodies rocking together. Derek reaches across the bed, body tilting with the stretch, and grabs the bottle he has stashed between the mattress and frame, passing it to Stiles who uncaps it. He drizzles the liquid over Derek’s outstretched fingers while Derek nips and sucks at his neck, mouth never leaving his skin, and watches as Derek deftly smears it around, warming it up before his hand reaches behind Stiles, index finger sliding between the cleft in his ass and rubbing softly at the tightly furled muscle, pressure increasing slowly until Stiles relaxes enough for the tip to slip inside. “Fuck,” it’s a low sound as Stiles rocks backwards, Derek’s finger slipping further in. Derek lets Stiles set the pace, his other hand coming up to wrap arounds Stiles’ erection while the other man shifts in his lap. Soon Stiles is panting, litanies of “more” and “please” falling from his mouth, and Derek withdraws his hand, shushing the whimper and reaching for the abandoned bottle, slicking up his fingers again before returning to press two inside of Stiles. The next groan from him is deeper, more felt than heard, and Derek takes the initiative, fingers sliding in and out slowly, stretching as they go. When Stiles starts rocking down harder, Derek reaches around with his other hand, dripping more of the liquid down Stiles’ crack and onto his fingers, huffing a laugh at Stiles’ hissed “cold” before gently nudging his rim with a third finger, slowly easing it in as Stiles relaxes further. It’s a tighter fit, he can feel Stiles’ body trying to resist and he waits it out, fingers barely twitching inside of the other man as he tries to relax. “M’so full Derek,” the words are slurred and Derek can feel the slight softening of Stiles’ cock against his body, hear the tight sound of pain in his voice, and he starts to slide his fingers back out, worried that it’s too much too soon, but he’s stopped by Stiles’ hand on his wrist. “Just…wait…one min…,” he can feel it when Stiles begins to adjust, a slight roll to his hips. It’s not quite the grinding that it was a moment ago, and Stiles still isn’t back to fully hard, but it’s an encouragement. He curls his fingers slightly where they’re tucked inside of Stiles and is rewarded with a gasp and the feel of Stiles thickening against him, he repeats the motion and earns another gasp which trails into a moan as he presses against the spot he’d found. “There, there, yes,” the edge of pain gone from Stiles’ voice now. He tilts his chin up, free hand angling Stiles’ face back to his and kisses him deeply, tongues sliding together as Stiles begins to lift himself up and down, fucking himself onto Derek’s fingers. His fingers are sliding in and out easily when Stiles’ next words break their kiss. “Fuck me Derek. I want you to fuck me. Please. Need you inside me.” He opens his mouth to ask but Stiles beats him to the question. “I’m sure. One hundred percent abso-fucking-lutely sure.”

“Okay. Condoms are in–”

“No. I mean, can we not? Werewolves can’t carry and I’m clean, I swear. I haven’t had sex in…it’s been a long time. High school. And I’ve been tested since.” Derek can feel his eyebrows lift in shock, he’d thought when Stiles went off to college that he wouldn’t have any trouble with that. Stiles can clearly read the expression on his face and shrugs. “Never wanted anyone as much as I wanted you, so it didn’t seem worth it.”

“So I’m your first–” he can’t quite bring himself to finish the sentence, a tightness grasping at his throat as he realizes Stiles was waiting for him all while thinking that it was never going to happen.

“Man? Yeah, you are. It’s good, it’s right.” The smile Stiles gives him is soft, completely at odds with the way he grinds his ass down against Derek’s hand, reminding him they were in the middle of something. “That okay with you?”

“Yeah, yes, yeah.” He’s never been so at a loss for words, as infrequently as he sometimes uses them. He surges up, catching Stiles in a biting kiss as he wiggles his fingers inside of him, fumbling for the bottle of lube with his other hand. He manages to uncap it one-handed and slides his fingers free, pouring more of the liquid into his hand while shifting Stiles backwards so he can free his cock from where it was trapped between them, slicking it up. He shifts his other hand to Stiles hip, cock held firm as he watches Stiles angle himself before sliding down. He can feel the resistance as the head of his cock pushes against Stiles’ rim, breathes deep with Stiles as it finally breaches him, sliding in with a soft sound. He wipes his slick hand against the sheet on the bed, getting most of the excess lube off of it before grasping Stiles’ other hip with it, helping to keep him steady as he slowly sinks down until they’re pressed flush against one another.

“Fuck Stiles, you’re so tight,” his face is buried against Stiles’ neck, the words mumbled into his skin as he breathes, trying to fight his instinct to thrust and take. “You feel so good.” He can feel the slight tremble in Stiles’ thighs, the effort of holding himself still taking a slight toll.

“You too, god, Derek, I didn’t know how good…” he trails off, fingers running across Derek’s shoulders before his arms wrap around Derek, thighs tightening as he lifts himself up and drops back down, dragging a moan from both of them. Derek shifts slightly so he can grip Stiles more firmly, feet planting hard into the bed as he brings his knees up, changing the angle and giving himself more leverage. He lifts Stiles up, can feel Stiles’ muscles tensing as he helps, and slams him back down. “Oh fuck, yes, there, there.” Derek grins against Stiles’ skin, knowing the angle is right to hit that sweet spot inside and he repeats the action, gaining speed as Stiles plants his hands on Derek’s shoulders, pushing down as he helps to lift himself up before dropping back down, their bodies slamming together, the slap of skin on skin echoing through the loft. “Fuck,” he barely grits it out, “not gonna last long.” One of Stiles’ hands drops down to his cock and starts stripping it in time with Derek’s thrusts.

“Me either, fuck. You feel so fucking good Stiles. So perfect. Like you were made for my cock. Made for me.” Stiles can hear the growl in Derek’s voice, sees the flash of his eyes as they rapidly shift from their kaleidoscope green to vibrant blue and back. He tilts his head to the side, watches as Derek’s eyes track the movement, pupils blowing wide and thrusts becoming faster as he bares his throat. The hand still on Derek’s shoulder slips to his nape, pulling Derek’s mouth towards his neck. “Fuck Stiles, can I?” And he knows exactly what his wolf means.

“Yeah, fuck, do it.” His moan is loud when he feels Derek’s teeth, blunt and human still, digging into the tendon, feels him biting and sucking a mark there. The hand on his cock speeds up, thumb dragging across the slit twice more before he’s shooting thick ropes between them, painting Derek’s abs with his come. He can feel the growl where Derek is still latched onto his throat, twitches as Derek thrusts a few more times before pulling Stiles down hard against his lap, grinding his cock inside of Stiles, and he knows Derek is coming too. Stiles falls against Derek like a marionette whose strings have been cut, body pleasantly worn out. Derek just wraps his arms around Stiles, slowly leaning back until they’re both laying, carefully sliding out of Stiles and kissing his shoulder in apology when the other man winces as he slips free.

“We should clean up,” the words are a slur, but not from pain this time. Derek smiles and shushes him as he rolls Stiles onto his side and pulls him tight to him, Derek’s chest to Stiles’ back, tucking his knees in so they’re touching from shoulders to toes. His arm slides across Stiles’ waist, hand gliding across Stiles’ arm as he twines their fingers together. “Gonna stick together, won’t like it then.” Derek huffs a laugh at him, reaches for the shirt Stiles had pulled off of him earlier, giving his stomach a cursory wipe before running it between Stiles’ thighs.

“There, all cleaned up. Shut up and let me cuddle now.”

“Someone’s a smartass, huh cuddlewolf.” Derek lets out an annoyed sigh but snuggles back up against Stiles anyhow, nose rubbing gently across the nape of Stiles’ neck. “S’okay though, I happen to love smartasses.” Derek nips softly as Stiles’ nape, smiling against his skin when he yelps in protest.

“Go to sleep Stiles.” Whatever protest he knew Stiles was about to make got lost in the yawn he lets out instead.

“Fine fine.” He pats at Derek’s arm before lacing their fingers back together and pulling their hands snugly up against his chest. “I love you Derek.” He brushes a kiss across Derek’s knuckles and wiggles himself more firmly against the man at his back.

“I love you too Stiles.” He presses a kiss to the top of Stiles’ spine before closing his eyes, contentment running through him as he listens to the steady thump of Stiles’ heart as he drifts off to sleep.

**Author's Note:**

> Okay so Red Foxes make all kinds of strange sounds. Chirps and huffs and this horrible screeching that is a couple of different things. You can read all about it in the first bit of [this fun NatGeo article](http://news.nationalgeographic.com/2015/10/151030-owl-red-fox-animals-scary-screams-halloween-science/). There is also a video there so you can hear it for yourself. Cookies if you catch that the shrieking noise fox!Stiles is making is what you think it is.
> 
> Also I Tumblr if you wanna join me.


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